Left
by Mish and Trilliah
Summary: A Cirith Ungol piece co-authored by Mish and Trilliah...Frodo struggles with the thought of Sam leaving him behind...*COMPLETE*
1. The Tower

Author's Note: Hi, people! Mish here, bringing you another story, this one co-authored with one of my favorite writers: Trilliah! This story will be posted in several chapters (although how many chapters altogether, I don't know at the moment). As all should know, the characters, places, and storyline belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. And just so everyone is aware, much of the book's dialogue is quoted directly in this story. Tolkien did so well originally (so we thought) that we decided to leave it as it is. Of course, there are times where we do our own, especially during the times Tolkien didn't go into detail on; but when you read and realize, "Hey, I've read this before," you know why. ;) Okay. I think I've covered everything I wanted to...if not, I will at the beginning of the next chapter. :D Happy reading!  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
"The pass, Sam!" Frodo cried. "The pass! Run, run, and we'll be through - through before anyone can stop us!" He dashed away from the tunnel elated, almost drunk with the excitement and relief at being released from the horror of that dark hole. Its blackness was so thick it was stifling. He almost laughed as he ran forward. No one could stop them now! Not orcs, not Gollum, not - Frodo's step faltered. That creature whose lair they just escaped...surely it wouldn't have given up its prey so easily...  
  
...He couldn't hear Sam behind him...  
  
...But there was something. Something was pursuing him, the Ring-bearer, on its creaky legs. Where was Sam? Why wasn't he running beside Frodo? Had the creature gotten him? Frodo choked. He would never forgive himself if it had. Tears rose, but his feet had a mind of their own as they continued to carry him up the path. He longed to stop, to turn and run back to his friend. What was that? A voice? Sam! Oh, praise Eru, he still lived! But what was he saying?  
  
An overwhelming stench from behind nearly knocked Frodo forward, and he shuddered as a pale, eerie light appeared from behind, casting a long, trembling shadow before him. His heart leapt in his throat as an unimaginable terror filled his being. Before he could even turn to see his pursuer - if, indeed, he wanted to see it - he was struck in the neck, fire flowing through his veins as he collapsed to the ground. Sting fell useless from his grasp, and he uttered a small, pain-filled cry before losing consciousness.  
  
*****  
  
Darkness surrounded him. For a moment, Frodo feared he was back in the tunnel, but here it was not smothering. A cold breeze blew, and he shivered. The air was not fresh. It smelled of death and decay and rottenness. Foul fumes were lifted on the wind, and smoke wafted by every now and then. Coughing racked his body, and during a brief spell when he could breathe freely he lifted his head to see a red light suddenly flare up ahead of him. He could barely discern a mountain of ash and hardened lava reaching up to the shadowy smoke canopy. "How did I get here?" he muttered to himself. "And where's Sam?"  
  
He was too frightened and disoriented to move, but as he cowered on the ground fear grew in him until it became unbearable. He could not stay there! Something was hunting him, and if he stayed where he was, it would surely find what it sought. Frodo found himself constantly wondering where Sam had gone.  
  
Quivering with fright, he crawled forward, using his hands to help him navigate the uneven terrain. The glow from the volcano had increased enough to illuminate the landscape in crimson and black. Frodo nearly screamed as his hands bumped into something soft. It seemed to be a pile of clothes. He inched closer for a better look.  
  
This time he did scream - a long, mournful wail that echoed to the mountain and back, but Frodo did not care who heard. "SAM!!!" He shook the lifeless figure. "Sam, wake up!" Tears burned down his cheeks, and he found himself gasping and sobbing.  
  
"He's dead," a harsh, careless voice whispered to Frodo.  
  
"No!" Frodo shook his head, denying it, although he knew the voice spoke the truth. He felt Sam's chilled hands and stroked his icy brow. "No," he repeated quieter, his voice cracking. "Not my Sam." He bowed, crushed with horror, and touched his forehead to Sam's, his tears falling on Sam's cheeks.  
  
"He's dead, and you know it," the voice continued to taunt. It paused as if savoring the moment, then added, "You killed him."  
  
"Me?!" Frodo cried, lifting his head. He peered down at his hands, covered in a red, sticky substance. Sam's blood. Frodo gasped in disbelief. "How-?"  
  
"Yes, you." The voice cackled. "He offered to help you carry the Ring because he hated seeing you suffer so, and in your rage of possession you killed him."  
  
"But - I couldn't have! Not Sam! Not my dear Sam!"  
  
"Yet you did." Frodo could almost hear the smile in its voice.  
  
He cried out in anguish, wanting to end his life right there. Curling up beside the motionless body of his friend, he wrapped an arm around him. "Oh, Sam! I am so sorry!" He was so swallowed up in his sorrow that he did not hear them come until they were right at hand.  
  
"Ho la! What's that?"  
  
Frodo moaned, putting his hands over his ears. Couldn't they leave him to die in peace?  
  
Peace? Frodo laughed bitterly to himself. This wasn't peace.  
  
Suddenly he felt his head being yanked back as he was pulled to his feet by his hair. "Ah, look here, boys!" the orc growled, chuckling. "It appears we've found him. The Boss will be happy to hear this! He may even be moved to some promotions!" There was harsh laughter and Frodo was tossed into the group.  
  
"Nooo!" He reached out for Sam, despite the fact that he was dead. A vicious kick to the stomach silenced him, and they bound him as he was doubled over in pain.  
  
"Looks like we'll have some good eatin' tonight, my lads!" the orc leader called out as he lifted Sam's body. Frodo's heart was so broken by the comment that he passed out.  
  
What happened next was a blur to Frodo. His cruel captors enjoyed playing games of torture with their prey. Frodo was too hopeless to care. He had no reason to live anymore. The Ring was taken, Sam was dead...the rest of Middle-earth would soon follow. He just wanted it to all end quickly.  
  
The problem was, he knew it wouldn't. The Dark Lord wouldn't be so merciful as to grant him death. Not for a long while, anyway. He opened his eyes after having swooned again. His heart froze. His mind went numb. His spirit quailed. Before him was Sauron himself, Ring back in possession. This would not be good...  
  
*****  
  
All was black again. There was a pain at the back of his neck, and his blood ran hot even though he felt cold. Dimly he heard a voice calling...Sam? But...but he's dead!  
  
"Frodo, Mr. Frodo! Don't leave me here alone! It's your Sam calling. Don't go where I can't follow!" The voice was sobbing. Frodo struggled to answer, but he could not move. "Wake up, Mr. Frodo! O wake up, Frodo, me dear, me dear. Wake up!" The voice faded.  
  
"No, Sam! Come back! I'm here!" But there was no reply. Sam was gone. Frodo wept. Then he fell back into more darkness and foul dreams...  
  
*****  
  
Something terrible was being poured down his throat. Frodo coughed violently and spat out what he could of the burning liquid. Around him rose cruel laughter. He froze, afraid to open his eyes. Was this another dream?  
  
Slowly his vision returned, and he found himself in a room full of orcs. The flickering flames of the torches filled the room with a dim, red light. The creatures around him jeered and taunted, pinching Frodo with their claws and poking him with their knives. Their ruthless faces grinned down at him as he huddled on the floor, alone and terrified. This was real. Somehow he knew it was not another dream. And that made it all the more worse. Where was Sam?  
  
'No, I'm not going through that again," he thought to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. His body screamed at him, aches and pains sending wave after wave of torment. He was immensely weary and longed just to lie down and die. At least then he would no longer suffer.  
  
His mind began fleeing, but it was suddenly and harshly brought back to reality as an orc stuck his face in Frodo's and demanded something. Frodo's eyes shot open again and widened in fear. Apparently his captors had been talking to him since he revived, although he had paid no attention to them. They had noticed - and were not happy about it.  
  
"Look, if you wish to stay whole and sane long enough for the questioning, listen to me!" the orc yelled. "I'm sure I'm not the only here who would love to have the fun begin right now, see?" The others hollered in agreement. Frodo nodded.  
  
"Let's see. First orders are to have all the prisoner's items removed and recorded." The orc peered down at him, an odd look on his face.  
  
"Excuse me?!" Frodo involuntarily clutched for the Ring.  
  
"You heard me: strip!" They all laughed at Frodo's suddenly pale face. "Well, boys, it appears he has difficulty understanding. We'll have to do it ourselves!" Frodo struggled as dozens of pairs of hands reached for him and began tearing off his clothes, but even under normal conditions he wouldn't have been able to resist their strong arms. He finally went limp, exhausted and defeated. "Oh, isn't this a pretty thing?" the orc that had been speaking to him exclaimed as he held up the mithril coat.  
  
"Be sure that goes in the pile with all the other things!" a loud voice bellowed from within the crowd. The room suddenly went silent, and the orcs parted to let two especially ugly brutes storm up to the captive. Frodo ducked his head in shame, his face flushing scarlet. "Embarrassed, are we?" the loud one asked, roughly grabbing Frodo's chin and forcing the hobbit to stare into his face. His eyes glinted coldly as he chuckled at the young, frightened creature before him. Frodo tried not to show his fear, but he knew he was failing miserably. The clawed hand was ungentle, and he could feel drops of blood trickle down where the skin had been broken. "Hey, you!" the orc hollered, turning to catch the other brute fingering the silver shirt greedily. "Put that back with the other stuff!"  
  
"Shut your mouth, Shagrat," the other growled back, shooting him an icy glare. "I was just inspecting the articles."  
  
"You liar, Gorbag!" Shagrat spat. "Who's in charge of the tower? That's right! So I'm the one who gives orders here, unless you want to answer to Them!"  
  
Frodo cringed on the cold stone floor, wishing he could disappear. He stared as Shagrat and Gorbag continued their argument for a few minutes. Finally they seemed to remember why they were there in the first place, and both turned back to him.  
  
"Well there, little rat. Ready to answer some questions?" Gorbag chortled, leaning in close. Frodo backed away, and the orc laughed again.  
  
Shagrat shouted at the company of orcs, ordering them to leave the room, and they began to disappear down a hole in the middle of the floor. "There now. Perhaps we'll have peace and quiet enough to hear your squeaking," he said, striding back up to Frodo and Gorbag and shooting Frodo an unfriendly smile. Frodo gulped. Shagrat began poking through Frodo's items as he asked, "Who - and what - are you? You seem a bit like those cursed Elves," - here he swore - "but you're too small." When Frodo made no move to reply, he pulled out a long knife and waved it under Frodo's chin. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, you hear?" A shiver ran down Frodo's spine, and both interrogators must have seen it, for they laughed.  
  
"Recall, Shagrat, that I asked if teeth, nails, and hair were to be included in the stripping, and you said no," Gorbag said, turning to face the other orc but glancing sideways to catch Frodo's reaction. "Perhaps we should reconsider if he plans on being stubborn like this, you think?"  
  
Frodo visibly gulped. "I - I'm a - a h-hobbit," he stammered, blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "A h-halfling."  
  
They laughed again. Shagrat fingered his knife. "Good, good. I'm glad you've decided to cooperate. Now, you didn't answer my first question. What is your name?" Gorbag seemed to have caught a fancy for his blade, too, as he pulled it out and began toying with it.  
  
"F-Frodo." That was all he would give.  
  
"And where are you from?" He seemed almost bored asking it, holding up his dagger and gazing at it nonchalantly. Silence. He turned back to the little rat. "I said, where are you from?" he repeated, voice edged with anger.  
  
Frodo glanced from Shagrat to Gorbag to Shagrat again. He couldn't say! What would they do to his beloved home and people? He couldn't betray them! The two orcs gripped the hilts of their knives and move closer, and his resolve began to waver. Shagrat pressed the flat of his blade against Frodo's chest and grabbed him by the back of his neck. Oh, his neck! The pain flared, and he couldn't help crying out. "The Shire!" he hissed.  
  
All was lost anyway. They had It now.  
  
"I suggest you start being a little more respectful and answer when we ask you. You do realize that your life is in our hands, do you not?" Shagrat was getting impatient.  
  
"If you kill me before my time, They won't be happy." Frodo glared back at him, a sudden strength surging through him. "Nor will He," he added quietly, not breaking his gaze.  
  
Shagrat would have slain him right there had Gorbag not held him back. "He's right, Shagrat! Calm down! I'll do the asking for a bit." Shagrat settled down with a huff. "Now, little one," Gorbag growled, turning to Frodo. "Let's try this again. What are you doing here, lurking about the borders of Mordor? You don't seem the type to crave the darkness and deadness of this beautiful land. And what of your companion?" Frodo could not help starting at the mention of his friend, and the slight straightening of his back did not escape Gorbag's notice. "Yes, we know you were not alone. What is he?"  
  
Frodo pressed his lips together, his mouth becoming a thin line. So Sam had survived! At least long enough for the orcs to know he existed, anyway. Frodo refused to give out any information that could hurt Sam...if he was still alive. Frodo closed his eyes against the sudden dizziness that came over him.  
  
"Answer me!" Gorbag almost screamed.  
  
"No." Frodo didn't care if they killed him for it. He would not betray Sam!  
  
Gorbag took deep breaths, obviously incensed. Shagrat muttered something to him in the Black Speech, and Gorbag shot a glance back at him. But then he seemed to take control of himself, and his breathing became regular again. He played with his knife once more. "Oh well. He apparently didn't care for you that much anyway, the way he left you lying there on the ground like that."  
  
Frodo blanched, cut deep by the remark. Of course Sam cared for him! Look how far he'd traveled with his master and all that he'd done for him. He knew he was as special to Sam as Sam was to him...wasn't he? Frodo swallowed and closed his eyes again. He only left because he had to, right? Or maybe because he was unconscious and couldn't do anything to follow anyway...  
  
Now Frodo was confused. If Sam had been conscious, why had he let Frodo be captured? That didn't sound like the Sam he knew. No, something must have happened to him, surely. Sam wouldn't leave his Frodo behind on purpose. He wouldn't!  
  
Would he?  
  
Doubt began to plague Frodo's mind. He tried to shake it out of his head, but it was more stubborn even than Sam. A pain rose in his throat. Sam *did* care for Frodo, right? Or was it merely duty that kept Sam at Frodo's side? Or was it...  
  
Or was it the Ring? Frodo's breath caught as the thought entered his mind. The Ring. It had already corrupted Boromir, and Frodo had left before it could tempt anyone else. The only one who had been with him after he left was Sam. The Ring was powerful. It already had a strong hold on Frodo. Could it be affecting Sam now?  
  
"No," he whispered, burning tears falling to the ground. *No. Not dear, innocent Sam!*  
  
Oh, how his heart ached from the stinging remark by that filthy orc! Such a simple comment causing such great heartache. He curled up into a pitiful little ball on the floor and spoke no more. No prodding or yelling or threatening by the two monsters above him would cause him to open up again. Finally they appeared to give up and stomped out of the room, gathering up his belongings in a dirty, black rag before disappearing through the hole in the floor. A tear trickled down Frodo's cheek as he slipped from consciousness.  
  
*****  
  
Some time passed and Frodo woke, finding himself alone in the room. At one point he decided to stand up and stretch, feeling his muscles getting tight. He wandered over to inspect the door in the floor. Yanking on the handle, he discovered it was locked. No surprise. But then he heard the bolt slide aside, and the hatch lifted, revealing an orc guard beneath who had come up to check on the prisoner. Frodo jumped and fell backwards, emitting a small cry of surprise and fright.  
  
"Hey! What are you doing up?" the guard demanded, springing beside the traumatized hobbit and leaning over him, shooting him an angry glare. Frodo covered his head with his arms and whimpered, hiding his eyes from the beast. "You're not to move unless commanded, you hear? Or you'll get this!" There was a crack, and Frodo's side stung. He glanced up to catch sight of a whip in the orc's hand. Upon seeing Frodo's great blue eyes widen, the orc laughed. "That's right." He turned and left, bolting the door behind him. Frodo closed his eyes, now burning again with tears, and tried to sleep.  
  
From time to time he would awake again. Once he decided to try going over to the window, but just as he took his third step, the door unlocked again. He immediately dropped to the floor, grimacing. 'Of course,' he though grimly to himself. 'Always when I get up. Never during all the time I am actually still!' Again he received "a reminder" for his movement. 'Never again,' he told himself. 'I am not going to move again.'  
  
*****  
  
He woke with a start to find someone shaking him. "Wake up, halfling! Time for more questioning." Shagrat smiled wickedly at him. With a groan, Frodo raised himself to a sitting position. Why couldn't they leave him alone?  
  
Shagrat and Gorbag questioned him for hours, Frodo giving carefully guarded answers or silence in return. It seemed endless! Frodo felt he was beginning to go crazy. Couldn't they see he had had enough? At one point he even screamed, clawing his hair and dropping his head to the hard stone floor. At least the two orcs were kept amused. While Frodo wasn't intentionally putting on an act, he hoped such antics would keep the brutes from releasing their increasing anger at his stubbornness. Their eyes and cruel laughter haunted him, and their daggers glinted in the firelight.  
  
A commotion downstairs caused the two captains to rush down the ladder, leaving Frodo huddled on the floor. Cautiously lifting his head, he gazed after them. Then he turned and spied a pile of dirty rags beneath the window. He decided to risk it. The floor was just too hard and uncomfortable. Sniffling, he crawled over to the pile and curled up on top. The shouting downstairs started quieting down. Shagrat came bounding up the ladder. He seemed startled that Frodo had moved. "Hey, you!" he snarled. "Don't you move again or you'll get it!" Frodo trembled in reply. A shout came from downstairs and Shagrat disappeared again.  
  
Frodo could hear him ordering the others about. Suddenly he yelled at Gorbag, something about a silver shirt... Ah! The mithril mail! Harsh clanging made Frodo jump, and he quickly covered his ears. They had begun fighting! More yelling...they were arguing about the prisoner! They were fighting over him and his things! 'What a sad, sad race of people,' Frodo sighed, shaking his head. He shifted to a more comfortable position. Another orc raced up the ladder. "Hi! You! Come here!" He brandished his short sword, but before he could advance, an arrow from below stuck him in the back and he fell.  
  
Terrified, Frodo lay still. He dared not move again. The sounds from below frightened him. What would happen now? They were evidently slaughtering each other down there. Would one of them come up and kill him before another tried to grab him and run off? "Oh, Sam, I wish you were here," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
*****  
  
It seemed the fighting would never stop. Frodo lay hunched on the pile beneath the window, contemplating his inevitable death. Even if Sam still lived, there was no way he could get through all these orcs to rescue his master, especially not with them fighting like this. If Sam would attempt to rescue him at all. Perhaps he wouldn't. He *had* left Frodo in the first place...perhaps he had taken the Ring and gone on alone...leaving his master behind...  
  
Heartbreak. "Oh, Sam...!"  
  
The sounds of battle were dimmer now, as the orcs had spread out through the building and into the courtyard. Then, incredibly, it stopped. There was silence: a deep, deathly silence. Frodo almost felt that was worse.  
  
As he lay there with the only sound reaching his ears being his own ragged breathing, he modified that. It *was* worse. Far worse. His body shook uncontrollably as he huddled on the floor amid the rags, feeling so lost and forlorn. His breath hitched as he thought of Sam, probably lying dead somewhere.  
  
"But what if he's alive?" a voice from deep inside him asked. "Now that the orcs have all killed each other, he may have a better chance of reaching you."  
  
"Nonsense," his voice replied, muttering. "He won't be able to find me anyway, much less enter this place. How do you know all the orcs are dead? How do you know he wasn't killed in the battle that just took place?"  
  
"How do you know he *was*?"  
  
Frodo sighed. "Oh, be quiet, you two!" he pleaded. Then he laughed softly, grimacing. "Look at me: I *am* going crazy!" He shut his mouth, suddenly afraid someone would hear him. He listened, straining his ears. Nothing.  
  
Curling up even tighter, he whimpered, longing for the comfort of Sam more than ever. Any hope that might have flared up earlier had long since vanished. He was doomed. The Ring was most likely taken by the Enemy, not by Sam...  
  
"Oh, Sam, I pray you're all right! Do take care."  
  
A harsh clanging suddenly split the air. 'What was that?' Frodo wondered, raising his head. When nothing else sounded, he laid his head back down and closed his eyes. Maybe he could fall asleep to never wake again...  
  
...His neck hurt for some reason...  
  
*****  
  
There were voices down below. So some orcs had survived. 'I knew it!' Frodo murmured; then he groaned inwardly. They were arguing. Typical. Frodo rolled his eyes. He couldn't understand what they were saying, though. Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to shut out their voices.  
  
After a short period of silence, he heard another voice. This one was different. It started out quiet and weak, but it was lifted in song...  
  
"In western lands beneath the Sun  
  
the flowers may rise in Spring, the trees may bud, the waters run, the merry finches sing."  
  
That was no orc!  
  
"Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night  
  
and swaying beeches bear the Elven-stars as jewels white amid their branching hair."  
  
He knew that voice! His heart began pounding rapidly in his chest. Could it be? He longed to reply but found himself listening raptly to the strong voice as it increased in boldness.  
  
"Though here at journey's end I lie  
  
in darkness buried deep, beyond all towers strong and high, beyond all mountains steep, above all shadows rides the Sun and Stars for ever dwell: I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell."  
  
He could not contain it any longer! "Sam!" he called out. "Sam, is that you?" The voice had started singing again, but it halted at the sound of Frodo's voice. He had heard!  
  
But then his cry was answered by another harsher voice, causing him to cower back against the wall in fear. "Ho la! You up there, you dunghill rat! Stop your squeaking, or I'll come up and deal with you. D'you hear?" Frodo made not a sound. 'Please don't come up, please don't come up,' he begged in his mind. "All right," the orc growled. "But I'll come up and have a look at you all the same, and see what you're up to." Frodo paled. Had the singing just been his imagination, then? Surely the orc would have heard it, had it been real...wouldn't he?  
  
The bolt to the door was drawn back, and the orc threw the door open, clambering inside. "You lie quiet, or you'll pay for it! You've not got long to live in peace, I guess; but if you don't want the fun to begin right now, keep your trap shut, see?" He pulled out a whip, and Frodo flinched. "There's a reminder for you!" He squeezed his eyes shut and flung his arms over his head to protect it as the orc raised the whip. The strip lashed his side, leaving a large, red streak. He bit his lip in an effort to keep from crying out at the pain. The orc raised his whip again, and Frodo readied himself.  
  
But the next stroke never came. There was a yell from the ladder, then the sound of someone rushing Frodo's tormentor; another cry, some more struggling, and a thud below. Not once did he open his eyes. He was about to swoon...  
  
"Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear!" a voice choked - Sam's voice. "It's Sam. I've come!" Gentle arms wrapped around Frodo and lifted him halfway, hugging him tightly. His eyes fluttered open, and he gazed into the familiar face of his beloved gardener. He muttered in shock.  
  
"Am I still dreaming? But the other dreams were horrible."  
  
"You're not dreaming at all, Master." Sam's voice was thick with emotion. "It's real. It's me. I've come."  
  
Frodo clutched him, a wave of dizziness making him suddenly unsteady. "I can hardly believe it," he said. "There was an orc with a whip, and then it turns into Sam! Then I wasn't dreaming after all when I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer? Was it you?"  
  
"It was indeed, Mr. Frodo. I'd given up hope, almost. I couldn't find you."  
  
Frodo felt an overwhelming sense of peace and joy pervade him, and he settled into Sam's arms, feeling safer than he had in a long while. "Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam." Finally things were right again.  
  
TBC... 


	2. The Ring

Author's Note: This is Mish again. :) Thanks to everyone so far for the reviews. You're all very kind. I think Trilliah will be putting up the rest of the chapters after this one (unless she lets me know otherwise). So...on to the story!  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Sam sat there holding his master tightly, never wanting to let go for fear of losing him again. He, too, felt the joy of the reunion and thought he could sit there in endless happiness, Frodo cradled in his arms like a child. But he knew they had to move and move quickly. Kissing Frodo's forehead, he said, "Come! Wake up, Mr. Frodo!"  
  
Sighing, Frodo sat up and looked around. "Where are we? How did I get here?"  
  
"There's no time for tales till we get somewhere else, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, brushing some of the hair from Frodo's eyes. "But you're in the top of that tower you and me saw from away down by the tunnel before the orcs got you. How long ago that was I don't know. More than a day, I guess."  
  
"Only that?" Frodo exclaimed, raising an eyebrow at Sam. "It seems weeks. You must tell me all about it, if we get a chance. Something hit me, didn't it? And I fell into darkness and foul dreams..." His voice faltered for a moment as terrifying scenes flashed once again across his mind, "...and woke and found that waking was worse. Orcs were all around me. I think they had just been pouring some horrible burning drink down my throat. My head grew clear, but I was aching and weary. They stripped me of everything; and then two great brutes came and questioned me, questioned me until I thought I should go mad, standing over me, gloating, fingering their knives." He shuddered and closed his eyes. "I'll never forget their claws and eyes," he whispered, his voice trembling.  
  
"You won't, if you talk about them, Mr. Frodo." Sam pulled him into a quick hug. "And if we don't want to see them again, the sooner we get going the better." He stepped back and looked him up and down. "Can you walk?"  
  
Frodo rose slowly to his feet, his body glowing scarlet in the light. "Yes, I can walk," he answered, carefully stretching his legs. "I am not hurt, Sam. Only I feel very tired, and I've a pain here." He gingerly touched the back of his neck above his left shoulder, wincing a bit as he did so. After taking several wobbly steps he seemed to regain complete control of his feet. A sigh escaped him, and he even smiled a little. "That's better!" He glanced around. "I didn't dare to move when I was left alone, or one of the guards came. Until the yelling and fighting began. The two big brutes: they quarreled, I think. Over me and my things. I lay here terrified. And then all went deadly quiet, and that was worse."  
  
"Yes, they quarreled, seemingly," Sam agreed, nodding. "There must have been a couple of hundred of the dirty creatures in this place." He made a face. "A bit of a tall order for Sam Gamgee, as you might say. But they've done all the killing of themselves. That's lucky, but it's too long to make a song about, till we're out of here." Frodo grinned at the comment. Then Sam ran another critical eye over him. "Now what's to be done?" he said. "You can't go walking in the Black Land in naught but your skin, Mr. Frodo."  
  
Frodo bowed his head, a fresh wave of despair already threatening to ruin the moment. "They've taken everything Sam. Everything I had." Looking up again, he grabbed Sam by the shoulders, staring deep into his eyes, willing him to comprehend. "Do you understand? *Everything!*" The full impact of what he said hit him, and he collapsed to the floor, tears burning his eyes. "The quest has failed, Sam," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Even if we get out of here, we can't escape." His gaze strayed to the window. "Only Elves can escape. Away, away out of Middle-earth, far away over the Sea." He paused, pursing his lips in thought, then added, "If even that is wide enough to keep the Shadow out." A single tear fell.  
  
Sam stood watching his master. The desolation, the hopelessness shining through Frodo's face broke his heart, and he felt his own eyes begin brimming with tears. As he stood there, the weight of the Ring around his neck suddenly reminded him. "Not, *not* everything, Mr. Frodo," he said. Frodo turned to him, a question in his eyes. "And it hasn't failed, not yet" he continued. "I took It, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon. And I've kept It safe. It's round my neck now, and a terrible burden It is, too." He groped for the chain around his neck and pulled it out. The light caught the Ring so that It glinted, and for a moment that glint was reflected in Frodo's eyes. "But I suppose you must take It back." The thought of burdening his master with It again weighed heavily on Sam's heart. Frodo had already been through much, and giving the Ring back would only increase his torment.  
  
Frodo gasped, the news bringing sudden strength back to him. So Sam *had* taken It and kept It safe! "You've got It? You've got It here? Sam, you're a marvel!" He felt ready to embrace his friend, but just then Sam seemed to change. His skin became dark, and he growled and slobbered like some wild beast. This was not Sam! It was an orc! And it was going for his Ring! "Give It to me!" he cried, his voice changing. He held out his hand, doing his best to keep it steady but failing. "Give It to me at once! You can't have It!"  
  
Sam stared wide-eyed at the sudden change in his master. Then, quickly regaining composure he said, "All right, Mr. Frodo. Here It is!" Pulling the Ring and Its chain up and over his head, he added, "But you're in the land of Mordor now, sir; and when you get out, you'll see the Fiery Mountain and all. You'll find the Ring very dangerous now, and very hard to bear. If it's too hard a job," Sam gulped, "I could share It with you, maybe?"  
  
"No, no!" Frodo shrieked, snatching the Ring from Sam and glaring at him angrily. "No you won't, you thief!" He stood there panting, eyes wide with fear and hatred. Sam fell to his knees before him, the tears that hesitated before now spilling over as he witnessed his master lose control. Then Frodo seemed to come back to himself, and he passed his hand over his eyes. Seeing Sam kneeling before him made him freeze, mouth falling open in horror as he realized what he had done.  
  
His mind flashed back to another place, not that long ago...everything was black and red...Sam's limp body lay before him, his blood on his hands...he had killed him because of the Ring...and Sam only wanted to help...  
  
"O Sam!" he cried, falling to his own knees. To think that he had come that close...that close to fulfilling his nightmare! He couldn't breathe, couldn't think... Grabbing one of Sam's hands in both of his own, he bent over it, lowering his head to hide his shame, and firmly placed that hand over his heart. Sam could feel it beating rapidly beneath. "What have I said? What have I done? Forgive me!" Frodo raised his head, his eyes glistening, then dropped Sam's hand and fell forward, wrapping his arms around Sam and sobbing into his chest. "After all you have done." He sniffed. "It is the horrible power of the Ring. I wish It had never, never been found." Pulling away, he glanced down, still unable to meet Sam's eyes. "But don't mind me, Sam. I must carry the burden to the end. It can't be altered. You can't come between me and this doom."  
  
"That's all right, Mr. Frodo." Sam rubbed his sleeve across his eyes. "I understand." He reached out to touch Frodo's cheek and gently lifted his chin until Frodo finally looked back into his face. Then he smiled slightly. "But I can still help, can't I? I've got to get you out of here. At once, see? But first you want some clothes and gear, and then some food." He stood and looked around. Judging from the look on his face, he wasn't pleased with what he saw. "The clothes will be the easiest part. As we're in Mordor, we'd best dress up Mordor-fashion; and anyway there isn't no choice. It'll have to be orc-stuff for you, Mr. Frodo, I'm afraid." Catching Frodo's frown, he said, "And for me too. If we go together, we'd best match. Now put this round you!" He unclasped his cloak and cast it over Frodo's shoulders. Then he unsheathed Sting and looked at it. Thankfully no flicker of blue shone on its blade. "I was forgetting this, Mr. Frodo," he said. "No, they didn't take everything! You lent me Sting, if you remember, and the Lady's glass. I've got them both still. But lend them to me a little longer, Mr. Frodo. I must go and see what I can find. You stay here. Walk about a bit and ease your legs. I shan't be long. I shan't have to go far."  
  
"Take care, Sam!" Frodo called after him as he headed for the ladder. "And be quick! There may be orcs still alive, lurking in wait."  
  
"I've got to chance it," Sam replied. He vanished through the trapdoor, but soon his head reappeared. He tossed a long knife on the floor. "There's something that might be useful," he said. "He's dead: the one that whipped you. Broke his neck, it seems, in his hurry." He smiled grimly. "Now you draw up the ladder, if you can, Mr. Frodo; and don't you let it down till you hear me call the pass-word. *Elbereth* I'll call. What the Elves say. No orc would say that." And with that, he disappeared.  
  
TBC 


	3. Hope

a/n:  Hey all!  Trilliah here.  As Mish mentioned, I'll be posting the remaining chapters.  Here's the 3rd of 4—and thank you all for the wonderful reviews!  We love 'em!!  :)   

Frodo sat curled near the hole for quite some time, not really wanting to move far from the knife but loath to touch it and carry it with him.  The gaping yawn of the trapdoor seemed to mock him—like a foul beast trying to entice it's prey to crawl within so it's jaws could snap shut and render the prey helplessly trapped.  Frodo knew he was being foolish—if anything he was already in the beast's mouth, and the trapdoor was the way to freedom rather than the imprisonment; still, he couldn't help but tremble when he glanced at it.  He'd very nearly panicked when Sam had disappeared—he didn't want to be left alone again.  He was afraid that the orcs would return, and move him to a place where Sam might never find him.  He glanced at the knife, daring to reach out and finger it.  It rolled slightly under his hand, and he shuddered involuntarily, drawing Sam's elven cloak more tightly around him.  He sighed; the soft material was balm to his aching whip welt, and though it was quite thin warmed him quickly.  It also smelled faintly of Sam, the familiar scent mixed with that of the trees of Lorien, and the sensations comforted Frodo greatly.

          However, despite the warmth of the cloak, he soon found himself shivering again.  Where was Sam?  Hadn't he been gone long enough?  It had surely been twenty minutes by now, at least.  Why hadn't he returned yet?

          Frodo suddenly felt a wave of terror wash over him.  The orcs…there were orcs left alive!  Had they discovered Sam?  Was he...?

          He shook his head quickly and wiped away the tears that had begun to prick the corners of his eyes.  Sam was fine, he had to be.  He could take care of himself…far better than Frodo could, he'd proven that already.  Frodo found himself wondering again what had happened, how he'd ended up in this foul place.  His heart clenched with remembered agony as he recalled his fears concerning Sam's feelings for him.  He shook himself again.  Sam cared for him, of course he did.  He'd come back, he'd rescued him…and he'd returned the ring.  Frodo shook his head in amazement.  How many could have done that?  Could have taken the ring, even for only the length of a day, and been able to give It up so freely, so easily?  Sam's only hesitation had been to burden Frodo again…Frodo closed his eyes as he remembered his reaction to the well-meant offer to help carry It.  Tears began to prick at his eyelids again, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, but they had their way, trickling hotly down his cheeks.  Oh, the look on Sam's face…that heartbreaking look, those startled tears welling from Sam's honest brown eyes…  And then Frodo couldn't help but break down and begin to weep again.  Oh, how could he have said such things?  And to his Sam of all people?  Frodo opened his eyes and gazed at the trap door, allowing the tears to stream silently from them as he though, "Oh, Sam, I am so sorry.  You don't deserve this.  And I certainly don't deserve you."   

          Yet Sam remained; stayed by Frodo's side through this darkness even as Frodo became less and less himself.  Frodo shook his head, the beginnings of a smile of amazement tugging at his lips.  "I'll never understand it," he thought to himself.  "But thank the lady for him.  I'd never survive without him."  

          The thought called up his fear again, and gazing at the hole he wondered aloud, "Where *IS* he?"  Then, forcing himself to stand, he tore his gaze from the gaping blackness of the trapdoor and glanced about his prison.  Might as well see if there was anything useful to be found in this filthy place…  He drew the cloak even closer and began to walk, relishing the lovely stretch in the aching muscles of his legs.  He rotated his shoulders a bit, loosening them up, and began to search.  Best to take his mind of things, lest the worry consume him and he go mad…

          His foot suddenly bumped against something soft, and he stifled a startled scream.  The images of his dream flashed up again, and he closed his eyes against the irrational fear that suddenly constricted his throat.  "No," he told himself firmly, and with a great deal of force managed to open one eye to see what he'd hit.

          And then his other eye opened, and both went very wide as he fell to his knees.  It was not Sam at all—it was Frodo's pack!  The contents were scattered about the floor in front of him, and the pack itself was a bit ragged-looking, but it was still functional.  Frodo picked it up and began rummaging through the items that lay strewn about before him.  The food from Faramir was gone, but the lembas was still there.  Much of it was broken, but there was a good deal that was still in its wrappings, unharmed.  Frodo couldn't help but grin a bit smugly.  "Looks like the orcs didn't like the lembas any more than Gollum!" he thought.  He quickly set about gathering what was salvageable.  When all was said and done he had almost as much lembas as he'd had the last time he'd checked…how long ago was that?  Two days, at least, from what Sam had said.  

          Frodo lifted his pack and was about to carry it back towards the trapdoor when he noticed something else, shoved up against the wall.  He leaned down and looked closer, then had to stifle a noise of dismay.  His water skin!  It was in tatters.  He closed his eyes.  What were they to do, without water…?  Even if Sam's skin was full, there'd never be enough…

          He sighed, lifting the worthless skin and studying it in the red glow of the firelight.  There was nothing for it; they'd have to go on as long as they could and pray to the Lady there was water to be found somewhere in this black land…

          A voice suddenly drifted up from below, startling Frodo so he nearly dropped the pack.

          "Elbereth, Elbereth!"

          Sam!  Frodo did drop the pack, racing to the hole and dropping to his hands and knees.  He quickly lowered the ladder, and soon Sam came into view, puffing as he dropped a bundle of gear onto the floor.  Frodo was so happy to see him he was barely able to stop himself from throwing his arms around him and never letting go.  Instead he listened quietly as Sam spoke.

          "Quick now, Mr. Frodo!" he was saying.  "I've had a bit of a search to find anything small enough for the likes of us.  We'll have to make do.  But we must hurry.  I've met nothing alive, and I've seen nothing, but I'm not easy.  I think this place is being watched.  I can't explain it, but well: it feels to me as if one of those foul flying Riders was about, up in the blackness where he can't be seen."

          Frodo nodded, removing Sam's elf cloak and shivering as the cool air brushed his skin, then leaned over to peer into the bundle as Sam opened it.  He made a face; the clothes were downright filthy.  Sam glanced up and caught his look, and ducked his head apologetically.  "There weren't nothin' else, Mr. Frodo, sir," he said quietly, and Frodo quickly dropped a hand to Sam's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  

          "Oh, Sam, I know.  It's just foul stuff, this orc-gear!"  

          Sam grinned, wrinkling his nose.  "Aye, it is at that," he said.  "And even fouler are the orcs themselves, the ones who wore this gear.  But it'll have to do, I'm afraid."

          He stood as Frodo pulled on a pair of hairy breeches, wincing as they chafed his skin.  They were a bit too long, but Sam rolled them up once and they sufficed.  He handed Frodo a dirty leather tunic, which Frodo pulled over his head and belted.  

          "I expect they've taken the Mithril coat, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, and when Frodo nodded he continued, "and there's no time to go lookin' for it, I'm afraid.  But I can't bear the thought of you with naught but a bit of leather to protect you."

          He pulled out a chain mail shirt and handed it to Frodo.  Next to the Mithril it was an unsightly thing indeed, the iron rings dark with age and far heavier than the fair chiming silver Frodo'd grown accustomed to.  But Sam was watching him expectantly so he pulled it over his head, clasping a belt around the middle.  It was a dreadfully heavy thing, but Sam looked a good deal easier now that he had it on so he resolved to do the best with it he could.  Sam handed him a helmet, an ugly black thing with an iron ring about it, iron hoops covered with leather upon which the Evil Eye was painted.  The beaklike nose was rather unsightly; Frodo crossed his eyes to stare at it, which made Sam chuckle.  

          "The Morgul-stuff, Gorbag's gear, was a better fit and better made," he said, "but it wouldn't do, I guess, to go carrying his tokens into Mordor, not after this business here.  Well, there you are Mr. Frodo.  A perfect little orc, if I may be so bold."  He grinned as Frodo made a face at him, then tilted his head, considering.  "At least you would be," he continued, "if we could cover your face with a mask, give you longer arms, and make you bow-legged.  This will hide some of the tell-tales."   He cast a large black cloak about Frodo's shoulders.  It was of the same make as the breeches, coarse and hairy, and Frodo shuddered at its filthy weight.  Sam stood back and studied him a moment.  Frodo, feeling slightly ridiculous despite the situation, felt himself flush under the scrutiny.  Then Sam reached out and patted Frodo's shoulder.  "Now you're ready!" he said, apparently pleased with the work. "You can pick up a shield as we go."  

          "What about you, Sam?"  Frodo asked.  "Aren't we going to match?"

          "Well, Mr. Frodo, I've been thinking," Sam said slowly.  "I'd best not leave any of my stuff behind, and we can't destroy it."  Frodo nodded, remembering that the orcs, while they knew of Sam's presence, didn't know what he was—best leave them in doubt, maybe thinking him a man or an elf.  It could give them a slight advantage by making the orcs a bit more cautious in their perusal of them.  "And I can't wear orc mail over all my clothes, can I?" Sam continued, speculating.  Then, with a decisive nod, he said, "I'll just have to cover up."  

          With that he knelt and rolled the elven cloak, placing it back into his pack, and put the pack upon his shoulders.  He then cast another black cloak over it, tying it about his neck, and put an orc helm on his head.  

          "There," he said, "Now we match near enough.  And we should get going, Mr. Frodo.  I don't know how long our luck will hold."

          "I can't go all the way at a run, Sam," Frodo said softly, but the slight joke was tinged with a little embarrassment.  It was painfully becoming obvious through the course of their journey that he was quite lacking when it came to strength, especially when compared to his companion.  He gave Sam a wry smile.  "I hope you've made inquiries about inns along the road?  Or have you forgotten about food and drink?"  

          The words came out harsher than he'd intended, but Sam didn't seem to notice.  "Save me, but so I had!" he cried.  He gave a low whistle.  "Bless me, Mr. Frodo, but you've gone and made me that hungry and thirsty!  I don't know when drop or morsel last passed my lips.  I'd forgotten it, trying to find you!"

          Frodo's gaze softened as Sam spoke, pity as well as an odd sense of elation filling him.  

          "He does care for me," he thought triumphantly, "if he can forget about eating and drinking just because he was looking for me."

          He suddenly realized Sam was still talking.  "Don't orcs eat, and don't they drink?" he was asking.  "Or do they just live on foul air and poison?"

          "No, they eat and drink, Sam," Frodo assured him.  "The Shadow that bred them can only mock, it cannot make: not real new things of it's own.  I don't think it gave life to the orcs, it only ruined them and twisted them; and if they are to live at all, they have to live like other living creatures.  Foul waters and foul meats they'll take, if they can get no better, but not poison.  They've fed me, and so I'm better off than you."  He gazed at Sam sympathetically, then said, "But there must be food and water somewhere in this place!"

          Sam sighed.  "But there's no time to look for them," he said. 

          "Well, things are a bit better than you think," Frodo said, wanting to bring some hope back to Sam's eyes.  One of them had better keep some hope, if they were to do what they set out to do.  He told Sam about his pack, and about the waybread.  "I've gathered it together," he said.  "It's not far short of what you've got.  But they've taken Faramir's food, and they've slashed up my water-bottle."

          Sam's eyes lit up a little when he saw Frodo's pack, the contents mostly unharmed, and for a moment Frodo's heart swelled.  Then Sam sighed. "Well, there's no more to be said.  We've got enough to start on.  But the water's going to be a bad business.  But come, Mr. Frodo!  Off we go, or a whole lake of it won't do us any good." 

"Not until you've had a mouthful, Sam," Frodo said sternly, recalling Sam's comment from earlier.  "I won't budge."  He handed Sam an elven cake, and made him take it despite Sam's protestations.  "Here, take this wafer, and drink the last drop in your bottle," he said.  "It's no use worrying about tomorrow, it probably won't come."

          He said the last without thinking, and could have kicked himself when he saw how Sam's face fell.  The gardener took the wafer in one badly shaking hand and sank to the floor of the tower, his feet dangling through the trap hole, his head bowed.  Frodo felt his breath hitch in his chest; he couldn't bear to see his Sam so downhearted.  "It's all your fault, too, Frodo, you nitwit," he scolded himself silently.  "Going and saying that to him, after all he's done, taking away his hope…"

          He felt tears sting his eyes as he knelt down next to his friend.  He saw with some alarm that Sam was weeping silently, tears leaving streaks in the grime on his face.  

          "Oh, Sam, I'm sorry," Frodo whispered, putting an arm about Sam's shoulders.  

          "I'm trying, sir, I truly am," Sam replied, his voice small and choked.  "I know if we don't make it it'll be on my shoulders, for leaving you and letting the orcs capture you…"

          Frodo's heart clenched—Sam *had* left him?—but he reached out and smoothed Sam's hair, whispering words of comfort.  "It's all right, Sam," he said.  "We'll get through this together, or not at all.  Please don't cry."

          Sam sniffed, then grabbed Frodo and hugged him tightly for a moment before releasing him and taking a bite out of the waybread.  Frodo held out the water bottle, and after a moment Sam took it, sniffling a little.  "Oh, there now," Frodo whispered.  "We'll be okay.  We're together, right?"

          Sam nodded, daring to meet Frodo's gaze for a moment and giving him a small, shaky smile.  Frodo grinned and kissed Sam's brow.  "Come along then," he said once Sam had finished his meager meal.

          With that, they set out into the darkness.

*        *        *


	4. Concerning Friendship

a/n: Hey everyone!  Trilliah again!  :) Sorry it took me so long to get this chap up.  *winces*  I tend to be bad about that, huh?  I'm trying to do better, really I am!  Anyway, here 'tis, as promised: the last part of Cirith Ungul.  I had a wonderful time writing it with Mish, and I hope you guys have enjoyed reading it.  Thank you for your reviews!  Bon voyage! 

*        *        *

"You cursed peaching sneakthief!  You can't do your job, and you can't even stick by your own folk.  Go to your filthy Shriekers, and may they freeze the flesh off you!  If the enemy doesn't get them first.  They've done in Number One, I've heard, and I hope it's true!"

          Frodo sat frozen, hidden from the sight of the Orc as he screamed at his companion, who loped away across the barren landscape, headed back towards the tower.  The other Orc soon stood, grumbling, and hurried away; then, and only then, did Frodo breath easily.

Next to him, Sam sat back with a barely audible sigh of relief.  He glanced at Frodo, placing one hand over his chest as if to calm his heart.  Frodo closed his eyes, listening to his own heart pounding in his chest.  That was too close…those orcs had very nearly discovered them.  He opened his eyes again and cast his gaze heavenward.  Even though he couldn't see the stars, he took great comfort in knowing they were up there, somewhere, above the stifling cover of black dust and shadow.  It seemed someone had been watching out for them.

It was two days now since they'd escaped the tower.  Frodo'd had to abandon his orc-mail; he was just too weak, and the weight of the ring was more than enough.  He almost smiled as he recalled Sam's words when he'd admitted how much the weight had been dragging him down.

*"Bless you!  I'd carry you on my back, if I could.  Let it go then!"*

Frodo had smiled then, knowing Sam really *would* have carried him, if he'd asked it.  Almost unconsciously he slid a little closer to his friend.  Sam glanced at him, eyes wide in wonder.

"Well, I call that neat as neat," he breathed, finally breaking the silence.  "If this nice friendliness would spread about in Mordor, half our trouble would be over."

"Quietly, Sam," Frodo whispered.  "There may be others about.  We evidently had a very narrow escape, and the hunt was hotter on our tracks than we guessed."  He shuddered at the prospect of being captured again—he couldn't have borne it, he simply *couldn't* have.  And this time Sam wouldn't be able to come to his rescue.  After a moment he spoke again. "But that is the spirit of Mordor, Sam; and it has spread to every corner of it.  Orcs have always behaved like that, or so all tales say, when they are on their own.  But you can't get much hope out of it.  They hate us far more, altogether and all the time.  If those two had seen us, they would have dropped all their quarrel until we were dead."

          Sam sighed and nodded.  After a moment of silence, he said, "Did you hear what they said about that gobbler, Mr. Frodo?  I told you Gollum wasn't dead yet, didn't I?"

Frodo looked at him.  "Yes, I remember.  And I wondered how you knew."  He shifted and settled back against the boulder they sat beneath.  "Well, come now!  I think we had better not move out from here again, until it has gone quite dark.  So you shall tell me how you know, and all about what happened.  If you can do it quietly."  He gave his friend a wry look, knowing how worked up he could get at times, and what it did to the volume of his voice. 

Sam looked sheepish.  "I'll try, but when I think of that stinker I get so hot I could shout."

          Frodo smiled, and took Sam's hand in his own.  "Try, then, Sam," he said.  "For I must admit I am quite curious.  I didn't know what had become of me, or of…of you."  He choked a moment as he remembered his fears in the tower, but quickly regained control over his emotions.  Sam *had* rescued him; he'd not abandoned him, or been hurt himself, so why was Frodo still getting so worked up over what the tower Orc had sneered at him?

          *He apparently didn't care for you that much anyway, the way he left you lying there on the ground like that…*

          He shook his head harshly to clear it of the voice.  Sam glanced at him, concern written on his features, but Frodo smiled again.  "Pay me no mind, Sam," he said.  "Come, tell me what happened."

          Sam nodded, breaking Frodo's gaze and staring at their interlocked fingers instead.  "What's the last thing as you remember, sir?" he said.  "That might be the best way to start."

          Frodo frowned, recalling.  "I remember…the tunnel.  That horrid web…sting cutting through the threads.  We were free, weren't we?  I was running to the pass…and then you weren't there, and I…I didn't know what had happened to you, and I wanted to go back and find you but then I heard your voice, and…the next thing I knew, there was a searing pain in my neck, and I was out cold.  Then I awoke in the tower, surrounded by orcs."

          Sam nodded.  "It were that Stinker, Gollum," he gritted.  "He betrayed us.  He was with *her*, somehow; they're alike in some way, I think, and he led us right to her."

          Frodo frowned.  "Her?"

          Sam nodded again.  "Shelob.  That great creature who laid that web.  I don't very well know how she got ahead of me; there are more ways out of her lair than we knew, I reckon.  Anyhow, I yelled at you to look out, but before I could do anything else I was attacked from behind."

          Frodo frowned.  "Gollum?" he sighed.

          Sam nodded, and Frodo's gaze followed Sam's, staring at their clasped hands.  He had certainly made quite the mistake, deciding to trust in that slinking—

          "He attacked me," Sam said again, "and I didn't get to you in time.  By the time I'd fought him off and he'd scampered away, I was so worked up over him I nearly followed when he ran.  Then I remembered you, and I returned as quick as I could, on my honor, sir, but…I was too late.  She'd stung you, and bound you tight.  Had I been but a few moments later I believe she would've had you in her lair, and all would have been lost.  As it happened…it were a very near thing."

          Frodo frowned.  "But Shelob, Sam.  How did you get me away from her?"

          Frodo was surprised when Sam blushed.  "I…well, I attacked her," he said, shrugging.  

Frodo stared at him.  "You…*attacked* her?"

          Sam nodded, his blush deepening.  "Aye, sir," he said.  "I know it was a might foolish of me, but…what else was there to do?  Though it was mostly a piece of luck that I was able to reach Sting, and that I had the Star-glass; she didn't care for them none, make no mistake."

          Frodo was still staring, his jaw slack.  "You…*attacked* her?" he asked again.

          Sam looked up, perplexed at Frodo's amazement.  "Well…aye," he said.  "Mr. Frodo, what are you on about, if you don't mind my asking?"

          Frodo shook himself.  "I…oh, I…Sam, must you even *ask*?  Listen to you!  You *attacked* that brute?  And you won?  How?"

          Sam shrugged one shoulder.  "Well, sir, like I said, it was mostly the work of the elves as did it," he said, unable to meet Frodo's gaze for his embarrassment.  "She didn't like Sting none, to be sure.  She tried to crush me, but I held up the blade and she…well, pinned herself on it.  How do you like that, now?  Then the lady's Star-glass did the rest; it hurt her eyes to look upon, being such a fair thing as it was, and her being so foul.  She retreated.  I don't know where she went, nor did I care to follow.  You…"

          He broke off abruptly.  Frodo glanced at him, concern growing at the sudden pallor of his skin and the shallowness of his breathing.  "Sam?"

          Sam drew a deep shaking breath.  "You…you were bound in that horrible web," he whispered, his gaze never leaving the ground.  "She'd put her poison into you, and you were so still…so pale and quiet.  I freed you, but you wouldn't move, and you didn't answer me, and I…I…"

          Frodo was alarmed when he realized Sam was weeping quietly.  "Sam?" he cried softly, concern filling him abruptly.  He drew Sam's other hand into his own and held them tightly.  "Sam, what is it?"

          Sam raised his face but closed his eyes, tears still slipping silently from behind his eyelids.  "You were still," he said, his voice suddenly flat.  "You were so still, Frodo; so pale, unresponsive.  I called to you, again and again, but you didn't move, and you were so cold, and I couldn't feel your heart…Frodo…I believed you were dead."

          Frodo gasped, stunned, the revelation taking it's time to sink in, even as Sam continued to speak.  "I didn't know what to do," he was saying.  "I knew what I should do, but…oh, Frodo, it was hard," he whispered, anguished.  "I didn't want to go on, not without you.  I…I couldn't bear just *leaving* you there, but I didn't know what else I *could* do and you were…you…" he broke down then, his face crumpling as he bowed his head and shook with silent sobs.

          Frodo gathered him into his arms immediately.  Together, they wept silently for some minutes, unable to do anything else.  Frodo could not help the swelling of joy within him.  *He *does* care, he does, he does…he didn't abandon me, he did what he thought was right, and it *was* right, at that, if I had died he *would* have had to go on…*

          When they'd regained control, Frodo drew away.  "I didn't know," he whispered.  "They said…the orc who questioned me, he knew about you, knew I hadn't been alone.  They said…" he broke off suddenly, pain swelling again at the mere thought of what the orc had told him.

          Sam tilted his head.  "Said what, Frodo?"

          Frodo closed his eyes and leaned against his friend, resting his head on Sam's shoulder.  Sam drew a comforting arm about Frodo's shoulders, and after a moment Frodo found his voice again.  "They said it was obvious my companion hadn't…cared for me, the way he left me…left me lying on the ground like that," he whispered.  

          Sam stiffened.  "Surely you didn't believe them."  

          Frodo gulped.  "Oh, Sam, I didn't want to, but…but I didn't know, I wasn't sure…you were gone, but they hadn't taken you themselves, that was certain…I was afraid," he finished in a whisper.  "Afraid for you, afraid for Middle Earth…and afraid they were right."

          Sam released him suddenly and drew around to face him, placing strong hands on either of Frodo's shoulders.  "Look at me," he said, his voice quiet and very serious, and Frodo raised his eyes.  "I want you to forget right now everything that orc told you.  He was trying to hurt you, and a job he did of it, to be certain.  But sir…what he said, it's just not true, not any of it.  So don't you believe it.  I love you, Frodo; and nothing can change that.  I wouldn't have left you if I hadn't been so certain…"

          Frodo reached out with a trembling hand to brush at Sam's tears.  Sam leaned his cheek into Frodo's palm, eyes closing as his brows drew together, his expression one of quiet dismay.  "Oh, Sam," Frodo whispered, not knowing what else to say.  

          "But I did leave you," Sam whispered back.  "I can't say as that ain't true enough.  But I never would have, if…if I…"

          Frodo drew Sam's head to his shoulder.  "I know," he whispered.  For several long moments they sat in silence, until Sam's anguished voice reached Frodo's ears, sounding as though he were talking to himself though he addressed Frodo.

          "I left you…I did.  I promised I wouldn't and I did, and you were tortured for my stupidity.  Oh, Frodo…I'm so sorry, but I didn't know what to do!  What else could I have done?"

          Frodo took Sam's hand in his own.  "Plenty," he whispered, but when he saw Sam flinch he hurried to explain.  "You could have left me for good," he said.  "You could have left me to them and taken the ring yourself.  Or you could have claimed It."

          Sam looked up suddenly, protest clear on his face.  "Oh, sir…no!  I couldn't have left you, sir, I'm nothing without you!  And I *couldn't* have done this on my own."

          Frodo smiled slightly.  "You still could have claimed It, Sam," he whispered.  "There are many who would have."

          Sam shook his head vehemently.  "No, sir, begging your pardon, sir, but I *couldn't* have.  It's not worth that, sir.  You're so much more important to me than that…that *thing*…" he waved his hand at Frodo's breast, where the ring lay hidden under the folds of Frodo's orc-tunic.  

Frodo gave him a shaky smile.  "Oh, Sam…thank you," he whispered, tightening his grip around Sam's shoulders.  For several long moments they were silent, until Frodo suddenly began to chuckle lightly.  Sam looked up at him, curious.  Frodo smiled at him.  "I suppose I was right, Sam," he said quietly.  

Sam tilted his head.  "About what?"

          "I said by the end of this journey you'd be a wizard or a warrior.  And such a warrior you've become!  I still can't believe you *attacked*—"

          Sam shook his head.  "And we're back to this again, are we?" he asked, his tone lightly mocking.  Frodo grinned and shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Sam, I'm just…quite in awe, I must say."

          Sam smiled, but did not blush.  Instead he placed a hand on his master's shoulder.  "I'd do it again, sir," he said quietly.  "Any time."

          Frodo smiled gratefully at him.  "I know, Sam," he whispered.  "I know."

          And, finally, he did.


End file.
